Climbing Your Ladder
by trespresh
Summary: Peeta Mellark has just been hired at District Twelve, a high-end fuel production company. If his first encounter with the company's President is anything to go by, this job is bound to be no walk in the bakery. -AU, modern times. Rated for a reason.


**Well. This is my first foray into the Hunger Games fandom. My Teen Wolf readers have been so generous, so I hope this fandom is as welcoming. :)**

**This is, obviously, incredibly AU, as well as OOC. Unbeta'd, so forgive me my mistakes. Give it a go, though?**

**Disclaimer: I wouldn't dream of taking credit for The Hunger Games. The characters belong to Suzanne Collins. **

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><p>It all started as an accident, really. Not something he'd have chosen for himself, but opportunity called and he answered.<p>

"_I just got back in touch with the mother of the company's President. Seriously, kid, it's a once-in-a-lifetime job,"_ his father had said.

But Peeta Mellark never saw himself as the office type. The cubicle-hermit, catty-Christmas-party, gossiping-by-the-water-dispenser type. But his father thought he'd been doing his son a favor by getting him the job.

"_You can't make a living baking, Peeta. Even if you do, you'll still be known as the guy who plays with cakes."_

Peeta had laughed in his father's face, but eventually, he'd conceded. How was he supposed to ever buy his own bakery without any money, after all?

Thus, he found himself dressing cleanly in a tailored cobalt suit, finding the color entirely appropriate—if a bit ironic—for his new job. Head of Sales and Marketing at the country's monopolistic fuel production company, District Twelve. The newest employee.

Peeta snorted into his mirror and straightened his tie. What does the Head of Sales and Marketing _do_ in terms of fuel production? Create web pages? Cast commercials?

_Need to heat your home or drive your car, but find Petroleum too expensive? Try new, long-lasting District Twelve Coal!_

Well. Peeta figured if he was going to snort at the absurdity of all of this, he'd be better off getting it all out of his system before driving to the office.

When he finally did arrive and give his name to the receptionist in the lobby, he was granted access to the elevator after being told the President wanted to see him before giving him over to his new 'Sales and Marketing' team. For whatever reason. He idly wondered what kind of guy his new boss was on the ascent to the man's office on the building's top floor. Would the President be large and surly and demanding, the kind associated with top-dog companies? Or would he be the buddy-buddy, 'let's go out for drinks' kind of pushover? Peeta studied his distorted reflection in the elevator walls as he contemplated, until the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors split open.

He stepped out into a wide room, divided by a long desk behind which another receptionist sat. She glanced up at him from behind her computer, a flash of recognition teasing her gaze and she smiled easily.

"You must be Mr. Mellark?"

Peeta leaned against the desk and smiled back. "I must be."

The receptionist tilted her head up toward him, her eyes raking down his frame once and then back up to his eyes as she tucked her blonde hair over her shoulder. He glanced down to the bronze nameplate on her desk and then curled his lips up into a smirk before he continued.

"Well, Madge—lovely name, I must say—" he simpered, earning a giggle from the woman, "—I was told the President needed to see me before I start today."

Without taking her eyes off him, the receptionist—Madge—pressed a finger to the telephone on her desk. "Mr. Mellark is here to see you," she spoke into the intercom.

They waited in silence for a few moments before a male's voice replied mischievously, "Little busy, here, Madge." The voice was cut off by giggles and a breathy whine before a different voice—unmistakably female—half-moaned in the background, _"Gale, please, I can't wait anymore_._"_

The intercom shut off and Madge barely had the decency to blush. "It seems the President is in a… _meeting _with Twelve's CEO. I suppose you can just wait by the door."

Peeta stared at her, taken aback. What the fuck kind of business was this?

"Go on, it's down the hallway and to the right," she smiled encouragingly at him.

Peeta's eyes darted down the long adjacent hallway. "Um," he said intelligently, giving the receptionist one last bewildered look before taking tiny steps toward the door. His thoughts swarmed in his head as he walked; _was this seriously happening or was it some sort of juvenile initiation? What kind of man was this President?_ _Should he be feeling like he needed to wash his hands this badly? _

But mostly he just focused on how the grunts and moans were only getting louder.

Peeta reached the door much too quickly for his liking, turning back to look down the empty hallway. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and waited awkwardly, the noises from behind the door filling his ears. Surely the two in the office were almost done, if the crescendo of the sounds was anything to go by?

He cleared his throat at his owns thoughts and stood in mild disbelief, feeling immeasurably uncomfortable. Perhaps he should knock on the door, if only to remind them of his presence?

And so he rapped lightly on the wood, wondering idly if they'd even heard him until an acknowledging, "Yeah?" responded.

And really, in hindsight, he should have realized that wasn't an invitation into the room. Peeta never understood the reasoning behind his opening the door, why he'd actually done it. And, well, he didn't really see anything—except for _everything_—besides flesh. Lots of flesh. And hair, a long dark braid splayed across a desk, and the soft, sensuous curve of the woman to whom the braid belonged, bent over that desk. And the rocking motions of the man behind her.

But really, Peeta didn't see anything.

"Sorry!" He exclaimed, slamming the door shut quickly and muttering an apology again to the doorknob for good measure.

_Stupidstupidstupid. What the fuck?_

He leaned against the wall next to the door and willed the burning blush on his face to diminish, ignoring the soft chuckles barely heard from behind the door. Finally, _finally_, after some time, the door opened to reveal a petite woman. Peeta was struck silent by her looks; he couldn't decide if it was because she was oddly simple looking, or because she was just so simply stunning.

She raised her eyebrow, a soft smirk playing at her lips, "Mr. Mellark."

He glanced over her shoulder to see the man shrugging on his suit jacket in the office. The man walked over to them, letting his hand glide over the woman's waist and linger for a moment before she stepped aside for him to pass through the doorway.

"Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne. I'll see you later." They shared a knowing smirk before _Mr. Hawthorne_ left and the woman turned her full attention on Peeta. He caught sight of the braid falling down her back and his blush promptly returned.

"I'm terribly sorry for the awful timing, Mr. Mellark. What you must think of this company," she simpered, but her tone told him she truly couldn't care what he thought of the company. The smirk never left her lips.

Peeta met her eyes for the first time. "You're," he cleared his throat, "you're the President?"

She nodded.

"You're not what I expected."

The President nodded again, though more to herself this time, as she acquiesced. "Yes, you and many others. I assure you though; I do everything in my power to help this company thrive."

Really, Peeta shouldn't have actually said his next words. They just slipped out. "And your legs around your CEO's neck? How is that good for the company?"

The President outright laughed, grinning at him coyly. "That? That's really just good for me." And she sent him a wink before holding out her hand.

"Katniss Everdeen. Welcome to District Twelve."

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><p><strong>Reviews are much appreciated. I'm not even sure how <em>I<em> feel about this, so it'd be nice to hear what you think!**


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